The Book of Saltwater and Promises
by Phoenix Refrain
Summary: This is the book that Peeta, Katniss, and Haymitch make to never forget the people they have lost.
1. Prologue

**AN: Here is the something new I've been working on. This will NOT be updated reguraly-only when I'm inspired. It's based on the book that Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch make in the end of Mockingjay. There will be, of course, pages about Finnick, Prim, Cinna, Leeg 1 and 2, along with the rest of them-there will also be obscure and small paragraphs about less known characters-either mentioned in the books or my fanfics. This will be a long, on-going project as the amount of people that can go in the book will probably not be limited to just their losses.**

**The next chapters will contain the actual pages from the book.**

There's a knock on my door and I'm roused from my semi-numb state to answer it. I've been moving around doing my daily routines waiting for more of it to make sense-mean more than just something I'm doing. I'm just waiting for it to take meaning again. So when I open the door it takes a minute for my eyes to focus on who's standing there.

Haymitch brushes past me before I can hardly take him in. He places a package on the table, "I'm not your mail service. Find someone else to deliver your packages, sweetheart." I watch as he pries open a bottle, and heads back out the door.

I stand there looking at the package still in a daze before my eyes finally focus on the name. It's from Dr. Aurelius. I lift the lid and find heavy parchment sheets in the box. It's for the book I mentioned to him. Not a book about my experiences, not really. It's about the people who are gone—the people we don't need to forget no matter what.

I sit down at the table and touch the parchment, trying to finally process the words that that need to come to life—the words that need to capture each of them perfectly so that no one will ever forget. I can't trust these details just to memory, they're far too precious for that.

…

When Peeta comes to eat, I think of how to approach the subject. I hadn't really thought it would ever happen—but even Dr. Aurelius was pushing this to happen. So after dinner, I say it bluntly. "Peeta, I want you to help me make a book."

He puts his plate back down on the table, and sits back down in his chair. "A book?"

"About the Games…" My voice catches, "About sacrifice."

Blue eyes look up into mine, and I start to falter and look away, "A book about sacrifice." He reaches out to my hand, "Prim."

"Prim," I choke out. "All of them, Finnick…my dad. Even Cato…your family." I look back into his eyes. "Like when you painted the games…You can't forget, we shouldn't forget. No matter how painful, because it's wrong. Wrong for me—for any of us to try to forget Cinna, Finnick, or—or—Prim!" I'm trying not to fall apart. It takes so long to put myself back together, just like Finnick said. Finnick…

Peeta clutches my hand, "Look at me Katniss. I'm here. We won't forget them, we will never forget them."

I hold on to him and we just sit there as the fear subsides again. I make my list wondering if my sanity will hold out for me to make this book. Even if it doesn't, I have to. Through the haze of my tears, I look up into his blue eyes and I'm reminded again that nothing can ever make those eyes deadly to me.

Tomorrow we will start the book.


	2. Aidan Everdeen

**Okay, I'm inspired! Which is odd, because I'm REALLY REALLY stopped up X_X. But anyways MERRY CHRISTMAS!**

**And I forgot to mention before, this is a frame story. Kind of like...erm The Book of One Thousand and One Arabian Nights. The sultan married a new virgin everyday then had his previous wife beheaded. Scheherazade escaped this fate by telling him a story until the dawn when she had to stop. He was so entranced he let her live to the next day. She would finish that story the next night and start on another until she was halfway through-this happened for one thousand nights. On that night, she tells him there are no more stories. Instead of killing her, the sultan realizes he has fallen in love with her. **

** Scheherazade and how the sultan grows to love her is the frame story, while the tales are the story within. **

**I DO plan on doing a Katniss and Peeta fanfic of well...everything later, but this will in short be a frame story showing how they grow together while making the book. It won't be that detailed about them typically, and sometimes it will only be what they write. **

**Anyways, this should be my LAST long A/N.**

It's hard to sleep thinking about the book. Finally, I give up on sleeping and head downstairs. I sit at the table trying to think of what I will write. I want to start with Prim, but every time I try to begin…The world goes hazy from the tears in my eyes. The world spins and quakes.

I find myself having to make a list. I am Katniss Everdeen. I'm seventeen years old. I was the Mockingjay. I've forgotten how to fly. I'm in District 12. I know what Johanna meant when she said there is no one left I love. I can breathe even if I don't feel like it.

Even though the words aren't very reassuring, I find that they calm me.

I'm not ready to write about Prim yet.

When Peeta comes to the door an hour later, I'm waiting for him. There's not much to say as he walks in, there's nothing left for us to say to each other—we've said so much. We just sit in silence for a long time as I stare at the wood grain of the table.

Finally, his voice—the voice that still sounds like Peeta from our first game speaks, "Are you ready?"

I look up into his calm blue eyes—like skies where birds can fly freely, where clouds waft by…"No." I'm not. I'm really not, but I have to. "I'll never be ready."

"But you're going to do it anyways?" He asks gently.

"Yes, because we have to live—" my voice trails off, but he finishes my sentence.

"For them," he touches my hand and I don't pull away. He opens his sketch book, "Who do you want to start with?"

And it comes to me suddenly. "My dad," I say it in barely a whisper. His memory is not so painful. His death is already so distant, I don't want to forget more. The only picture I had to remember him by went with my mother to District 4. I don't want his face to fade anymore than it already has…

I begin to tell Peeta about him. The kindness in his eyes, the way he had lines of laughter around his eyes. The grey eyes…the way his forehead was shaped, the way his lips looked, the way his eyes flashed when he was happy, the angle of his jaw…Every detail I thought I had forgotten.

It's a little after lunch when he finishes. Wiping away the charcoal colors, I notice the smudges on his hands—like coal. He turns the sheet to me, and it's like seeing my father again. It's like he's really truly there.

I feel the tears sting my eyes as I touch the paper—a perfect replica of my father's face. I thought, I'd never see him again and now I can see him everyday if I like. I can't ever forget him now.

…

It's late afternoon and Peeta has settled back at the table with me while I write. I told him he could leave, but he said he'd rather not be alone. So he sits there as I start writing in my very best writing directly into the book.

_Aidan Everdeen loved his wife very much, and his two daughters—Primrose and Katniss. He was a good man. When he laughed, you felt as if there had never been anything in the world so beautiful or happy, you wondered what joy he could see in this place. He provided for his family, he did everything he could._

_His voice was rich and powerful. Every bird would stop to listen in awe. Nothing could escape the power of his voice, nothing not even my mother. He taught me how to hunt, how to live—how to provide. So when he was gone, I was ready._

_He gave me his voice, he gave me his love, he gave me his life. _

_His hands were rough, but capable of the most tender touch—of tying ribbons in his daughter's hair, of consoling any sadness I felt—even after he was gone. He still comforts me._

I stop writing and read it over and over again before handing it to Peeta. He reads quietly and then looks up at me. But before he can say anything I blurt out, "It's not good enough."

"It's perfect," he says.

"It doesn't do him justice," I protest.

"Nothing can bring him back," he states calmly.

I snatch the book away and slam it shut before walking up stairs. It's at least an hour before I hear him show himself out.


End file.
